Apology Made
by Mrs Dionysius O'Gall
Summary: What happened after Luke and Lorelai make up in The Prodigal Daughter Returns.
1. Lorelai

The apartment was still dark. Not morning yet, Lorelai thought. Noticing that she was naked and chilled, she tugged the sheet up a fraction of an inch, 'til she reached Luke's arm, which was protectively slung across her abdomen. Lorelai placed her hand on top of his arm and pressed it closer, nestling contentedly into Luke's side. 

She rubbed her face against the side of his chest, like a child making sure a beloved toy was real. Even after more than a year, part of her still couldn't believe that she was regularly enjoying the experience of lying naked in bed with her coffee purveyor.

She slowly raised her head. Looking up at the ceiling, Lorelai realized with a start that they weren't at their house, but in the apartment above the diner. It was just as well, she thought--THIS bed was so very comfortable.

And then she remembered. The fight. The mortified look on Sookie's face, Sookie's quick, reassuring squeeze of her arm, Jackson and Sookie's quick retreat after Luke stormed out, Sookie's phone call reassuring her that fights were normal and everything would be all right.

But then her thoughts quickly turned to Luke's whereabouts after the fight. It didn't take a genius to figure out where Luke had gone. She first checked the garage, because he often retreated to the boat when things were bothering him. Not finding him there, she quickly fixed a plate with some veggies and one of the turkey burgers Luke had prepared for himself, and headed for the diner.

-------

Thank goodness it was after closing. She reached for the spare key, let herself in, and noticed that a light had been left on (for her?) behind the counter. She hesitated at the foot of the stairs; this was their first substantive fight after all. But she knew she had to set the tone and let Luke know that he was not in this all alone. Nevertheless, she was glad she had the food to use as a cover...

That food never did get eaten, she remembered.

Luke had other things on his mind.

"C'mere," he'd said in the low voice he reserved only for her, and only used in their most private moments. She'd scooted over onto his lap, realizing he had forgiven her. She remembered how Luke, with face upturned to her, silently asked for, and received, her forgiveness. They'd kissed for quite a while, until he excused himself and rose to place the beer he'd been drinking when she came to the apartment on the kitchen counter.

"Lorelai," he'd said, beckoning her to him.

She didn't think she could get over there fast enough. She didn't care that she looked needy or overeager; she only wanted to feel his body pressed flush against hers.

He was leaning against the kitchen counter as she wrapped herself tightly around him. She ran her hands up and down the length of his back, lightly, just barely, scratching. It was something he really liked.

"I'm sorry about Chri..." she began.

"Shh," he replied, kissing her. One hand moved in figure eights through her hair. Starting at the skull, drawing a handful of hair through his fingers like a precious silken skein. Reaching the end, his hand would move to another section of her head, and repeat. The other hand explored her back with equal deliberation, from left to right, top to bottom.

Sometimes, at the diner, she would watch him wipe down the counter. Not because of any sort of cleanliness-fetish, but because she loved watching how intensely he focused as he moved the rag over the counter, slowly, in circles, over and over. Before they were together, she occasionally would wonder what it would feel like to have his hands move over her body in that same way. Slowly, methodically, carefully, and most of all thoroughly, with nothing to distract him from his task. And all the while, he'd be looking at her.

During the night after their first meal at Sniffy's, she found out what that was like. And promptly became addicted to his touch.

She moved her hands to his head, wriggling her fingers under the edge of his blue cap, behind each ear, slowly tracing the same circles he was tracing on her back, on his scalp. Her circles were slow and tightly constructed, fingers moving up towards the crown of his head, under the cap. And then she slowly removed the cap.

The removal of the cap had become a signal of sorts for them. She had so many favorite cap-removal moments. Wild flinging, gentle removal, and all kinds in-between. Whereas some couples had secret cues for when they wanted sex--like watching some late-night show--Luke always knew that she was the initiator when she removed his cap. In slow motion, as her hands reached the top of his head, Luke's cap popped off and fell to the kitchen counter behind them. Running her fingers through his hair, Lorelai pulled Luke's face towards hers and rested her smooth cheek against his two-days' growth. Gently, she nuzzled him, so as not to irritate her skin. She idly let one hand trail back down over his shoulder, his arm, his side and down to his thigh.

They were extremely tender and gentle with each other, as if each could not believe that the other was there after the visceral verbal vehemence of their fight. Before long, both were panting. She could feel his smile against each place that his mouth pressed kisses. By the time her hand made its way back up his side and back, both were urgently moving their hips, and Lorelai could no longer hold back the moan his name turned into.

Hearing this, Luke gently tipped her chin up so she had to look at him. She quivered as she tried to stand still.

Who decided to move towards the bed, or when, did not matter. If she thought about it, she had no recollection. She only recalled moving along with him, backwards, towards the bed. And she remembers whispering "I'm sorry, Luke."

His response, this time? A whispered "Show me."

Since the proposal, Lorelai had a newfound confidence, born of the fact that this man really did want her, forever. It was no longer a matter of waiting for Luke to get her to stay still so he could kiss her. It didn't matter that she had long-ago found Luke attractive. For years, try though she might, she couldn't help but measure every romantic interest against the one man she couldn't have and mostly didn't know she wanted. Complications, fear and anxiety: and the irony of it all was that she did not even know it. Max, Alex, Jason, even Chris--none had a chance. Inevitably, one wouldn't listen to her with Luke's intensity and concern. Another wouldn't look at her with understanding, piercing blue eyes flecked with humor and understanding. Yet another wouldn't honor her relationship with her daughter the way Luke did. None of them was Luke. And it wasn't until he got her to stand still that she herself saw it clearly.

He had seen her at her best and at her worst, experienced both her best and her worst, but was still here. Was this what it meant to have the whole package?

When they reached the bed, Luke turned and sat at the edge of the foot of the bed, kicking off his shoes. Lorelai sank to the floor, pulled off his socks, then stood and leaned over him to loosen his belt. Pulling it through the loops, she then reached behind him and piled the pillows, and kissed him. As they kissed, he lost his balance and sank down against the pillows.

Just like the time that she couldn't wait to show him how great a girlfriend she could be, she now couldn't wait to show him what he asked for. She wanted so badly to make love with him, to show him that there was room for only one man in her life, the one underneath her. If she had to show him a thousand times over, she would.

Only the most interfering of garments were removed. She looked down at Luke, whose eyes, heavy-lidded, were almost closed as his head lolled back onto the pillows. Knees planted firmly on either side of his hips, she lowered herself onto him, when he suddenly grabbed her hips and stopped her. His eyes flew open, wide with concern; she knew why he was concerned. It was not like them to not use protection.

"Kids would be nice," she answered, and he smiled the smile of a condemned soul returned to life, and sank back into the pillows even as she sank onto him. Tears filled her eyes, just seeing the desire, love, and gratitude in his. At that moment, there was nothing she would not do, would not be, for him.

Languorously, she moved in figure eights; slowly, her hands entwined with his, supporting her. Her movement was steady and rhythmic; all she could focus on was how so very good they were together. Her body moved effortlessly over his, rising and falling, circling one way then the other.

And then his hands crept up her forearms, as he hoarsely asked her to stop. He gently lifted her and deftly flipped her over.

"Luke?" she asked.

"Actions. More. Than words," he managed to utter against her back.

With that, he rubbed his cheek up and down her back, and over her buttocks.

"Luke...please..." she begged him to continue where they'd left off. She wanted him to apologize all night long.

Lifting his head, Luke obliged, firmly holding onto her hips. Slipping back inside, he lifted her slightly to him and began moving in and out of her. Lorelai's reaction was immediate; she held onto the pillows in front of her, clutching them to herself, biting into them lest she wake Luke's neighbors. She moaned his name as he stiffened and clasped her even tighter against himself. He finally gasped out her name once, then twice, before collapsing onto his side and taking her with him.

For a while, they lay on the bed in each other's arms, legs entwined, each softly kissing whatever lips could reach. Luke's hand made its way to her abdomen, stroking it softly.

"Luke?"

"Hmmm?"

"I meant it. About the kids."

"Sure you don't want to...mull...it over?" Luke replied.

"Sure. You can give away that Costco crate of Trojans to Kirk...you won't be needing them for a long time."

She felt his smile against the nape of her neck.

Then post-coital exhaustion took its toll.

------

It wasn't morning yet, but Lorelai was pretty sure they'd both said they were sorry. Naked and chilled, she tugged the sheet up a fraction of an inch, 'til she reached Luke's arm, protectively slung across her abdomen. Lorelai placed her hand on top of his arm and pressed it closer, nestling contentedly into his side.

His grandmother's bedroom set definitely would have to go. After all, it would soon be way too small for them, she thought as she patted her abdomen, thoughts of apples dancing in her mind.


	2. Luke

The apartment was still dark. Looking over at the alarm clock, Luke realized it wasn't time to wake up yet. He glanced down at Lorelai, nestled against him. Inclining his head, he briefly nuzzled her hair and thought about what it all meant. How was it that he, Luke Danes, was lying here with such a beautiful woman, whose long hair was splayed across his torso, whose long legs were flung over his, whose feet were seeking warmth against his? And even more important, how was it that morose Luke Danes deserved to be in the company of such effervescence?

He closed his eyes again and inhaled her scent. She was sleeping soundly, one hand resting on his arm. Tilting his head, he touched his lips to her head, peeking at her beautiful body.

Other guys might say he was one lucky son of a bitch. . Damn, it still pissed him off that the workers had seen her. He liked to think of her as all his. If they only knew…what a sorry excuse of a man he was without her.

He glanced back down at her, reflexively stroking her tummy. Looking at the flannel-patterned sheets, Luke suddenly realized that they weren't at their house, but in the apartment above the diner. It was just as well, he thought--he'd be able to stay in bed longer before opening the diner.

And then he remembered. The sound of that weasel's voice. The scared look on Lorelai's face as she quickly pressed the Stop button on the machine. The culinary pissing contest with Jackson. His own quick retreat after Lorelai called him a--was it drag queen?  
He briefly wondered what happened after he left. He was ashamed, ashamed that he'd left her to deal with their friends. But that Christopher always seemed to have a knack for ruining Lorelai and Rory's happiness, and more recently, his own. His thoughts quickly turned to the time Christopher broke Lorelai's spirit and heart by getting that other woman pregnant. Really, he should thank him; it didn't take a genius to figure out where Lorelai's weak spot was, and at least it opened her eyes. But, he berated himself, he'd really been an asshole. And what did she do? Kick him out of her bed? Kick him out of her life? No. She got some food, left her ridiculous dog, and found him. Sulking in his chair.

He'd left the light on behind the front counter for her, in case she came. He heard the faint jingle of the bells over the door, and her footsteps as she crossed the diner and went up the stairs. With each step, each flip of her flip-flops, he felt more and more undeserving of her.

"Come in." He tried to act like it was no big deal, that he had been expecting her. She was one cool customer, lecturing him and at the same time holding the dish in her hand, pretending like that was the reason she'd come to him.

Which reminded him…just where the hell did that food end up?

And how did he thank her? By making an uncalled for remark about the wedding date. And it just killed him to see the look on her face, and the way she squared her shoulders, yet he couldn't stop the words coming out of his mouth. God, he was making comments about Rory's dad and implying that Lorelai was dishonest, when really, all she'd done was try to spare him the very thoughts he was now having.

The apartment suddenly felt very cold. She was way too far away from him. He needed her way too much to indulge himself any further in his misery.

"C'mere," he'd said. He tried, really tried, to eke out a few other words; he wanted to bawl like a baby and beg her to forgive him for being such a jerk about Chris, no, Rory's dad. But she was babbling about Barbies and smelled so good and oh god, felt so good sitting there--in his lap, like she belonged there, that he could barely move. He hadn't felt that way since he was a kid and had screwed up and his dad towered over him and tousled his hair. She leaned down, put her hand on his chest, and kissed him. They kissed for quite a while, until he got tired of holding that damned beer bottle.

He walked into the kitchen and placed the bottle on the counter.

She was, once again, too far away.

"Lorelai," he'd said, beckoning her to him.

For someone who didn't work out and hated exercise, she could sure move fast. Before he knew it, she'd jumped him, pushing his back against the kitchen counter. And she was doing that thing he really liked up his back.

Then she started talking again.

He secretly loved her banter. It was everything he wished he could say, every way he wished he could be. But no way did he want to hear that weasel's name coming from lips that he soon hoped would be very busy doing very sexy things to him.

"I'm sorry about Chri..." she began, and he successfully shushed her by kissing her. Works every time.

He grabbed her hair with one hand and let his fingers drift through it. God, I hope she never cuts it short, he thought. Was there a sexier sight than her giving him a blowjob? He thought not.

Sometimes, at the diner, before they got together, he would watch her drink her coffee. Not because he was stalking her, but because he loved watching how she used her mouth. She'd take a huge gulp at first, then slowly, sip her coffee as the first jolt of caffeine set about guaranteeing her an early death. And then her cute little tongue would peek out…and move over her lips…and he'd have to stop looking, or risk embarrassing himself. Before they were together, he occasionally would wonder what it would feel like to have her tongue move over his body in that same way. Slowly, methodically, carefully, and most of all thoroughly, with nothing to distract her or cause her to burst forth in a torrent of babble. And all the while, she'd be looking at him with those gorgeous eyes.

During the night after their first meal at Sniffy's, he found out what that was like. And promptly became addicted to the way she'd trace her tongue over his…God, what was she doing? Massaging his scalp? Off came his cap, and her fingers were playing with his hair. He thought he'd kind of heard his cap land on the counter behind him.

She pulled his face down towards hers, and he hesitated; he didn't want to scrape her beautiful, smooth face with his stubble. He closed his eyes and noticed that her hand was trailing down, down down…Don't scare the shit out of her, he thought, by getting all cave man with her.

They were extremely tender and gentle with each other, as if each could not believe that the other was there after the visceral verbal vehemence of their fight. Before long, both were panting. He had to have skin. She moved her head, giving him access to her neck and whatever it is they call the front of the chest. Gratefully, he pressed small kisses wherever he could, a smile on his face. And what was she doing with her hand? By the time her hand made its way back up, they both were urgently moving their hips.

And then she said his name, except it sounded like a moan.

He gently tipped her chin up so Lorelai had to look at him. She was shaking, shaking! Because of him, Luke Danes. He had to think of Taylor, Andrew, Kirk AND Miss Patty having a moment in the gazebo to keep from losing it all together.

Who decided to move towards the bed, or when, did not matter. If he thought about it, he had no recollection. He only remembered that he moved her along with him, towards the bed.

He remembers her whispering, "I'm sorry, Luke."

And he remembers thinking, what for. But his response, this time? A whispered "Show me."

Although things had generally sucked since the proposal because of "the Rory situation," there was something different about Lorelai. He was just so damn glad that she'd proposed; though truth be told, after almost losing it all with Nicole, he'd have waited forever for Lorelai. The minute he'd slipped that crazy woman's horoscope into his wallet, it was over for every other woman on the planet. For years, try though he might, he couldn't help but measure every romantic interest against the one woman he couldn't have. Rachel, Nicole--none had a chance. Even though he'd seen her at her worst--which was pretty bad, he thought, remembering Mimi; he'd also seen her at her best.

When they reached the bed, Luke turned and sat at the edge of the foot of the bed, kicking off his shoes. Lorelai sank to the floor, pulled off his socks, then stood and leaned over him to loosen his belt. Pulling it through the loops, she then reached behind him and piled the pillows, and kissed him. As they kissed, he lost his balance and sank down against the pillows.

At that moment, he knew what the definition of lucky bastard was. Him. Lorelai was a woman possessed, tearing off whatever clothes she could.

Only the most interfering of garments were removed, he noticed as he reclined on the pillows. He closed his eyes and reveled in the feelings her tongue and hands were brining forth in him. And then, knees planted firmly on either side of his hips, she lowered herself onto him, and he died and went to heaven…and oh shit, they weren't using anything and he had to stop her.

He started to tell her why, but she just looked at him with those gorgeous eyes and countered with, "Kids would be nice." And he remembered the night they decided to get married, and how he was the one babbling on, and all about the Twickham house and the kids, and how she'd all but agreed to have his babies when she'd said that kids would be nice. So now, he looked her in the eyes and did not stop her--how could he?--as she sank onto him again. Were those tears in her eyes? Don't cry, Lorelai, he thought.

Languorously, she moved in figure eights; slowly, he reached up and held her hands with his hands entwined with his to support her. Her movement was steady and rhythmic. Her body moved effortlessly over his, rising and falling, circling one way then the other.

But it was too slow for him and he wanted to hear her scream his name, wake the neighbors, and set off car alarms in four counties. She seemed confused as she asked "Luke?" as he flipped her over on all fours.

"Actions. More. Than words," he managed to utter against her back.

With that, he rubbed his cheek up and down her back, and over her buttocks.

"Luke...please..." Wait, was she begging him?

Lifting his head, Luke obliged, firmly holding onto her hips. Slipping back inside, he lifted her slightly to him and began moving in and out of her. Lorelai's reaction was immediate; she held onto the pillows in front of her, clutching them to herself, biting into them lest she wake Luke's neighbors. She moaned his name as he stiffened and clasped her even tighter against himself. He finally gasped out her name once, then twice, before collapsing onto his side and taking her with him.

For a while, they lay on the bed in each other's arms, legs entwined, each softly kissing whatever lips could reach. Luke's hand made its way to her tummy, stroking it softly.

"Luke?"

"Hmmm?"

"I meant it. About the kids."

"Sure you don't want to...mull...it over?" Luke replied.

"Sure. You can give away that Costco crate of Trojans to Kirk...you won't be needing them for a long time."

He smiled against the nape of her neck.

Then post-coital exhaustion took its toll.

Looking over at the alarm clock, Luke realized it wasn't time to wake up yet. He glanced down at Lorelai, nestled against him. She looked pretty damned satisfied, if he said so himself. He briefly nuzzled her hair and thought about what it meant that he, Luke Danes, was lying here with this beautiful woman, whose long hair was splayed across his torso, whose long legs were flung over his, whose feet were seeking warmth against his?

This woman who'd pretended to love that ugly bedroom set just because it was his.

What the hell had he been thinking when he had Tom's crew move that old bedroom set into the new bedroom? His grandmother's bedroom set definitely would have to go. After all, it would soon be way too small for them, he thought as he patted her abdomen, as he started planning the cradle he'd surely carve for their kid… 


End file.
